In the Aftermath of Death
by Mishav
Summary: Rick consoles a grieving Daryl after the death of Merle.


"Dad," Carl whispered, barely detectable over the hushed whimpers and ragged breathing in the cell only a few meters away, "shouldn't you... do something?"

Rick turned on his back, envisioned Carl, sleeping in the bunk above, peering over the side to judge the reaction on his face, a softness not recently known to daylight. There was a sudden gasp in breath from the far-off cell, and Rick grimaced.

"I don't know what I can do. If I try to comfort him, he'll call bull and pull back even further."

"It's gotta be serious if he's in a cell." Carl replied, and Rick sighed. Merle mightn't been his favourite person in the world, but his loss on Daryl seemed astonishing, like the ground beneath him had been pulled from under his feet, or the weight of Atlas tossed on his hunched shoulders.

The whimpers seemed to die down for a moment, and Rick felt a surge of relief that Daryl was working it out of his system, but the silence was quickly replaced by heaving. The sound brought Rick to his feet, muttering an exasperated 'go to sleep' to Carl as he shuffled out to the cell door. He grabbed Daryl's knife from the perch on the way out, clasped it in his hands as he approaching the slightly louder mourning.

The door to the cell was shut and, upon peering in to the space between the bars, Rick realized that the mattresses from the bunk beds had been pulled off and shoved against the wall, limiting access into the cell.

"Daryl?" He called, and all sound came to a dead halt. He repeated, this time slightly louder, and he heard as Daryl let out the breath he was holding.

"What you want?" He asked quietly, but there was a warning in his tone.

"I think it'd be a good idea if you joined me in the watchtower for a few moments. I'd like to speak to you," Rick said, then drifted away from the cell door to the stairs, "just for a little."

Rick took the stairs slowly, and hopefully loud enough that Daryl would hear, and feel motivated to leave the cell block. He couldn't hear anything as he was leaving, but Daryl never disappointed in his track record. Rick doubted it'd be long in the watchtower before Daryl walked in, quietly with his crossbow drawn just in case.

He assumed it wouldn't be long, but Daryl didn't appear until the faint hues of the morning were streaking the sky with colour, and his own eyes were drifting shut under the weight of another sleepless night.

But when Daryl did appear, Rick tried not to look to shocked. His eyes were red and puffy, and his skin sallow. There were bruises in the form of fingertips marking his arm, from where Daryl had gripped himself so tight the indentation had bruised. More surprisingly, his crossbow was nowhere to be seen. This hands were clenched shut, and Rick could see them twitching in anticipation.

Rick, silently, gestured to the ground next to him. They wouldn't be tall enough to watch the grounds, but the rising sun would be visible from the open space where the window once was. Daryl, hesitantly, took a seat, but sat further away than necessary, and drew his legs up to shield his body.

"What?" Daryl eventually asked, breaking the silence that had pervaded the air. Rick thought over his words once more, taking in the look on Daryl's face, the potential impact that any negativity would have on the seemingly frail and vulnerable mind.

"I'm not going to say Merle was a good man-"

Daryl huffed, whether it was in agreement or annoyance was beyond Rick, and moved to sit up. Rick leaned forward and put his hand on Daryl's knee, patting it a couple of times, and Daryl relaxed slightly.

"I'm not going to say Merle was a good man, or even a decent man, but in the end, he pulled through, and I think that's more important than any past experiences. I once wondered why you were sad about his disappearance when I got to know you more, and I learned what kind of a man you were, but I never truly understood, and I think I was so wrong because I never really understood what kind of a man Merle was. You don't need to do this on your own."

Daryl scoffed, but his body seemed to relax slightly, and the crease in his brows seemed to lessen somewhat.

"Well I ain't runnin' off leavin' no kid 'cause I can't handle it." He snapped. Rick let out a deep breath, stilling his arms from reaching over and strangling Daryl. Instead, he rested his hand on Daryl's shoulder lightly, gave it a gentle squeeze. Daryl was fleeing like he expected, but tensed up, as though he expected Rick to attack him.

It collapsed into silence once more, Daryl still staring ahead, but relaxing even more as the moments ticked by. Rick watched him for several moments, feeling guilty for thinking it but thinking how Merle's death was probably the best way it could have worked out. Daryl had been too high-strung since Merle's arrival at the prison, years of indoctrination peaking through his new-found individuality, always checking over his shoulder and avoiding Rick like the plague. And the more it happened, the happier Merle seemed to get.

But Merle was dead and Daryl was losing that side very quickly. He saw the occasional glances Daryl sent him unaware they were being observed, the small, nervous movements and the way he didn't shake off Rick's hand (and Rick didn't remove it, no matter how numb it felt). Rick's grip tightened, and he brushed the skin of Daryl's neck with his finger. In response, Daryl's breath hitched.

"When I was younger, Merle beat up this kid 'cause he kissed a guy. Disappeared for days when he found out it was me," Daryl admitted, not facing Rick. He moved his hand once again, to Daryl's back, and lightly rubbed. When Daryl looked this time, he had that look of intense concentration, but couldn't tell if Rick was a walker or not. His pupils, however, were wide, and Rick could see how his breath hitched. Before he had time to think, Rick was drawing him in and pressing his lips lightly against Daryl's, letting his own hands slink to his sides to let Daryl decide whether he wanted it or not.

Daryl didn't move away, but he didn't respond. Just awkwardly knelt on the ground over Rick, his arms drooping to his sides and body tensed. Hesitantly, Rick reached out and placed a hand on Daryl's thigh, indicated he wanted a reaction; that Daryl would either get closer or flee. Daryl eventually let his hands rest on Rick's shoulder, tilted his head and pushed against Rick, giving him all the permission he needed. Rick pulled him closer, until Daryl was collapsing against him, legs on either side and body pressed against him, the muscles twitching and goosebumps forming as he trailed his hands along Daryl's bare arms.

He could feel Daryl's tenseness, what would be years of indoctrination screaming for him to stop, but Daryl wasn't pulling away, even as Rick moved his mouth from Daryl's and brushed his lips against his neck, trailing down with gentle kisses until he reached Daryl's shirt. Daryl was tensing even more, but didn't stop Rick from undoing the buttons, or pulling from his shoulders.

Rick kissed his chest, but avoided the long scars that were imprinted on the skin, and Daryl gasped, letting his hands on Rick's shoulders tighten, and moving one of them to tangle itself in Rick's short hair. Rick moved back, then kissed Daryl again.

"Get your belt," he murmured against the skin of his cheek, Daryl's facial hair feeling awkwardly rough, not like-

Daryl's belt hit the floor with a thud. His eyes were avoiding Rick's face, focusing on something in the distance, and a flush was evidently forming. Daryl's breaths were coming in quick pants, the hot breaths hitting Rick's face like a slap to reality.

"Are you comfortable with this?" Rick asked, and Daryl's eyes drifted to the floor.

"I guess," Daryl replied.

"I need a 'yes' or a 'no'. If there's any part of you that's unsure-"

"S'fine," Daryl grunted, and Rick gave a sigh of relief. He maneuvered Daryl's body around until he was leaning against the metal wall and ducked between Daryl's legs. Daryl watched him, the flush increasing, and Rick leaned up and gripped his cheek.

"Watch it," he said, and pulled Daryl's pants down slightly. Daryl's breathing rate increased, and his hands, pressed against the floor, curled up into fists. Rick kissed his stomach, his thighs, and eventually, what Daryl seemed to be anticipating, his cock. Daryl shuddered, and Rick took it as a sign to continue, pulling the head into his mouth. The taste was off (but he'd eaten raw lizard and dog food, it wasn't exactly the worst thing he'd ever tried) and it felt awkward, but Daryl seemed to come undone from the action, letting his hands drift to Rick, one on his shoulder, the other clutching at his hair, but his eyes, as instructed trained on Rick. He didn't move them as Rick started moving his mouth further down, sucking, humming, moving his hand for what he couldn't get at, and let out moans and whimpers to each movement. Rick felt like he needed to gag, but Daryl's hand was on his head keeping it down, and Daryl's hips were twitching to every move he made. He tried not to break eye contact with Daryl, watched his face contort in pleasure as he came, watched the dazed look as he released Daryl from his mouth, coughing and feeling like his throat was on fire.

"We should get back," Rick said, leaning down to kiss a thoroughly wrecked looking Daryl. Daryl nodded in agreement, then glanced down in embarrassment.

"I ain't gonna be the one to tell why your mouth taste like cum," Daryl commented, and Rick chuckled. Daryl's humour was a nice break from fearing the retaliation from the governor.


End file.
